Margaret took a bite of the scone. “These are delicious. Dr. Anders,” she said his name in a faux voice, “isn't the wonderful man everyone in town holds in such high esteem.” She made a theatrical pause and patted her lips with a napkin so as to not ruin her lipstick. “I’m going to leave it at that. I saw you at Sherman Walters' funeral,” Margaret went on. I was surprised she brought that topic up. “Another sad day. I felt so bad for his wife. I know what it's like to lose a husband, my dear, when there's so much of life left to live. Sad, sad!”
“Sherman wrote a book...” I started.
“About the ginseng farms. I know.”
“Did he ever interview you?”
“Probably talked to John Stewart. I wish he had talked to me.” Margaret hesitated. “Although, I wish he had never done that research at all.”
“Why?”
Margaret picked up her cup and took a sip of her coffee looking straight ahead. “I would have told him to mind his own business. I should have...” She shook her head. “Most disturbing.” Margaret fell silent, looking into her lap.
I peered at her over the rim of my coffee cup. It was time to strike out in a new direction. “Have you heard about Alicia Miller? Struck by a car yesterday. A hit and run.”
Margaret’s hands shook. Her coffee spilled over the rim of her cup and onto her hand. She gasped and dropped the cup of hot coffee onto the floor. I quickly went into the kitchen and grabbed a towel and started to dab the coffee soaking into the throw rug at Margaret's feet.
“Sorry. You've caught me on a bad day.”
“Please go, get some rest. I'll show myself out after I get this cleaned up.”
“That’s so sweet of you. I shall call you soon, my dear.” As Margaret got up she added, “The scones were lovely.”
I watched Margaret as I worked on the rug. With a mournful expression on her face, she turned and shuffled, spiritless, out of the room. After I finished, I tossed the towel into the sink and let myself out of the grand old house, locking the door behind me.
* * * *
I left home for the free clinic at five o’clock with my heart still sodden with tears over the news of Alicia's death. I knew this would be an important night at the clinic, the best opportunity I'd have to find out what I could about Sherman. I needed to focus on that task and put Alicia out of my mind for the time being.
At the free clinic each week, three doctors worked with three registered nurses seeing thirty patients in an evening. I often worked with Dr. Anders, much to the relief of the other nurses. He was an exemplary doctor but could be rather demanding. Sometime during the evening, I would get into the morgue and see what I could find in the files about Sherman’s autopsy. The toxicology report would have shown drugs were in his system since he was out cold when I saw him early Saturday evening. All along I thought Sherman must have been drugged. Lately, I'd been having a nagging thought. Perhaps he'd been knocked unconscious. I wanted to get at those reports.
When I arrived on the unit, I learned one of the three doctors scheduled to work had cancelled. Dr. Anders' physician's assistant, who worked in the morgue with him, took some of the patients. What a lucky break. The morgue would be unguarded tonight. I started taking my patients for the evening. There wasn’t much of anything out of the ordinary, a worsening cough with chest tightness, a rash with intense itching that turned out to be scabies, a urinary tract infection. The patients were pretty much in and out of the rooms in a quick manner. I needed someone to come in with a whole slew of ailments. The fourth patient complained of chest pain, shortness of breath, extremity swelling, and severe headache. I knew Dr. Anders would be in the examining room taking his time with this more critical patient.
My opportunity had arrived. In a rush, I descended down the steps to the basement. My shoes made a click-clacking sound on the concrete floor as I walked down the dim corridor toward the morgue in the bowels of the hospital. The door had been left unlocked. I threw a backward glance over my shoulders and slipped into the room, closing the door behind me.
A strange blend of deodorizer and formaldehyde hovered in the air. The walls were covered in dingy white tiles. Off to the side was a large refrigerator room with massive steel doors. A hooded light hung over the polished stainless steel autopsy table. A smaller wheeled table stood next to it, a neat row of surgical instruments arranged upon it. I spotted the file cabinets against the wall in the back, also unlocked, and looked under W for Walters. I pulled his file and opened it. At first glance, nothing looked out of the ordinary, though I didn’t have a whole lot of time to read it. Cause of death: drowning. No mention of drugs on the toxicology report. Glancing down at my watch, I saw ten minutes had passed. A copy machine stood in the corner of the room next to the file cabinets. I made a photocopy of each page, put it at the bottom of my clipboard, and hustled back to the clinic. I breathed out a sigh of relief when I saw the red “help” light wasn't turned on. Dr. Anders was still in the patient’s room.
A minute later, Dr. Anders emerged from the room. With a booming voice he demanded, “Kay, where have you been? I needed your assistance, and you were nowhere to be found. Good thing someone was around. Lisa even put a new patient in the next room for you.” Dr. Anders handed me Mr. Meyers chart. “He needs stat lab work and a chest x-ray.”
Dr. Anders went on to the next examining room, sparing a sideways glance at me as he brushed past.
As a rule, I have a volunteer take patients to lab and radiology. However, Dr. Anders' office was close to radiology, and I knew he also kept files there.
I made the rounds with Mr. Meyers, first to the lab and then to radiology. “Mr. Meyers,” I said, “there's a short wait for your x-ray. Please have a seat here. A technician will come and get you.” I gave him a reassuring smile and left.
After rounding the corner in the corridor, I quickened my pace as I made my way to Dr. Anders' office. Again, I looked around before entering his unlocked office, even though no one used this part of the clinic in the evening.
Dr. Anders' spacious office afforded a beautiful view of the woods through the large windows which took up much of the north wall. Medical books and journals filled the floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Without thinking, I scanned the titles for a few moments until I remembered my time constraints.
The doctor always kept his file cabinets locked, so I proceeded to look through his desk drawers where I knew he kept the keys. When I opened the bottom drawer, I didn’t see anything other than some papers and a Physician’s Desk Reference. I picked up the PDR to look underneath it. Surprised at how light it felt for such a large, thick book, I opened it and saw that it had been hollowed out. A hip flask and a set of keys lay in its cavity. I went to the file cabinet, unlocked it with the second key I tried, and looked for Sherman’s file. I was surprised to see that some of the pages were handwritten.
Next to his file cabinet stood a copy machine. A bit unusual, but lucky for me that he would have one in his office. I photocopied the pages and returned everything to its proper place. I put these copies at the bottom of my clipboard, along with the report from the morgue, and hurried out of the room. I'd wait until I got home to read them. Leaving Dr. Anders’ office, I almost collided with Lisa, the nursing supervisor.
“Kay, what were you doing in Dr. Anders’ office?”
“Looking for a patient's file.” I knew the excuse appeared lame, but I had to say something. “Lisa, I need to pick up Mr. Meyers in radiology.” I stepped around her and headed down the hallway. I could feel her eyes on the back of my neck as I retreated.
Mr. Meyers was waiting for me when I arrived to escort him back to the free clinic. Upon reaching the unit, I saw Lisa talking to Dr. Anders in the hall. “Damn!” I took Mr. Meyers back into the exam room.
“Pardon me?” Mr. Meyers said.
“Sorry. Just thinking out loud.”
He smiled.
Dr. Anders came in right away. His face sour. “Kay, I want to see you in the hall. Now.” He looked ove
r and gave Mr. Meyers a sweet smile. “Please excuse us for one minute.”
I followed Dr. Anders out of the room, my mind trying to invent suitable answers for the interrogation I was about to receive. He pursed his lips and looked at me hard without saying anything. His cold steel gray eyes seemed to drill right through me. I returned the gaze, a carefully placed look of total calm upon my face. The staring contest continued for some time. His glower grew more heated. After a minute he spoke in a rough tone. “What were you doing in my office?”
Think fast. “Looking for a chart. You ordered stat lab work on Mr. Meyers. I knew he was a patient of yours before he started at the free clinic. Thought I would get his file from your office, so you could compare his lab values.” I knew I was rambling. Kay, take a deep breath and get a hold of yourself.
Dr. Anders leaned against the wall. His arms folded. “Did you find Mr. Meyers' file?” His tone was softer now.
Hmmm...this was more or less working. “No, your file cabinet was locked. Rather surprised about that.” I gave him an innocent smile.
Dr. Anders' forehead creased with deep ridges. his eyes narrowed in anger. “This is nonsense! Mr. Meyers has never been a patient of mine. Furthermore, my office is off limits to you. Do you comprehend?” He dragged out the word comprehend. When Dr. Anders had finished his rant, he continued to glare at me. The arrogant man expected me to give him an answer. I glared back at him. Dr. Anders crossed a boundary tonight. As I looked at him, I found it easy to think of his connection to Sherman's murder. Anger welled up inside me.
The look Dr. Anders gave me was now a warning. I had no difficulty understanding that. “Kay,” Dr. Anders continued, and his tone changed again. Maybe he was manic depressive. “I like you. You're a fine nurse. You may be getting yourself into a mess. Don't complicate your life.”
I didn’t want to let him know I understood what he was saying. “We should go see our patient now,” I said, and walked back into the room without waiting for a response.
I put my clipboard, filled with papers, down on the desk. My hands shook. I took in a deep breath and helped Mr. Meyers get back on the examining table. Dr. Anders followed me in, putting his chart on top of my clipboard. He avoided my gaze, and looked at the chest x-ray. After viewing the x-ray, he picked up my clipboard with the chart and said he'd be right back, that he needed to check the lab work.
“Dr. Anders, you have my clipboard. I need it... my next patient.”
He handed me the clipboard but let go of it before I had a full grip on it. The clipboard fell on the floor, the papers scattering. “I didn't mean to do that. Let me help you.”
“That's okay. I have it.” Dr. Anders stooped toward the papers anyway.
The door opened following a knock. “Dr. Anders, sorry to disturb you,” Lisa said, eyes darting between us, surveying the situation in the room. “There's a phone call for you from a Dr. Stewart. Says it's important.”
“Mr. Meyers, I'll be right back.” He glanced at the papers on the floor, and looked back at me, squinting his eyes, and left the room.
I let out a huge sigh when the door closed. Mr. Meyers shrugged his shoulders and smirked. I gave him a relieved smile. That had been close. I finished picking up the papers and opened the door again. Lisa stood just outside the room. Was she having a stake out, and I was the focus?
“Lisa, I need to use the restroom. Can you stay with Mr. Meyers for a few minutes?”
After she closed the door, I hurried outside and sprinted to my car. I put the papers in the trunk and walked back into the room, all in less than five minutes.
* * * *
Both Dr. Anders and I left the clinic just after nine o’clock. He exited the parking lot first. I followed behind his car at a distance, up the hill and away from the clinic. His car turned sharply to the right, onto the street where Margaret lived, as if it was a last minute decision. I continued home. When I arrived, Phil told me that Margaret left a strange sort of voice message while he was out.
“Kay...Margaret. I would like to meet again. I've something important to tell you... to ease my soul. Could you come tomorrow afternoon? In the morning I'm going with my sister to her cardiologist, otherwise you could come earlier. I shall return by two o’clock. Thank you, my dear.”
Oh my gosh. I knew what Margaret was going to tell me. It sounded like she would at last come clean. This would be it for the hooded six.
“Kay, how about going to St. Paul tonight to check out Edgar Devereux?”
“Who?”
“Edgar Devereux. An awesome jazz guitarist.”
I looked at my watch. “I'm tired, Phil. My evening's been stressful.”
“The band's only playing there tonight. You could rest up in the car on the way. You'll have an hour.”
“Call Mike.”
“I did. He's can't.”
I paused. “I'm sorry.” I put my arms around his neck and drew him close. “Right this minute, the only thing I want to do is to get out of these clothes and take a shower.” I gave him a kiss on the cheek and started up the stairs. “Perhaps you'd like to help,” I said, looking over my shoulder.
He followed me up. I put the papers on the top shelf of my closet.
* * * *
Margaret stood in the kitchen, making a cup of chamomile tea to take with her to bed, when she heard a rapping at her back door. Who could it be this late at night? Had Kay heard her phone message and decided to come over instead of waiting until tomorrow? In a way, that would be a relief. Margaret opened the door.
She gasped. “You? I'm getting ready for bed. I have nothing to say to you.” She tried to close the door, but he wedged his foot between the door and the jamb, and forced his way in. “You're not hearing me. I said leave.”
“Come on, Margaret, I’ve never known you to turn a fan away,” he said, coming in. “I won’t stay long. I’m not here to get your autograph. You'll be going to sleep soon enough.”
Anger changed to fear. Trembling, Margaret looked down at her hands. “And what's that supposed to mean?”
“I'm afraid your tongue may be wagging too much.”
“I haven’t said anything. To anyone. Now leave!” Margaret tried to push him out, but failed to even budge him.
“Are you sure, Margaret? Did you say something to Kay Driscoll? She acted strange tonight at the free clinic. I know she visited you this afternoon.”
Margaret's mouth opened. Kay? Did Kay suspect something? Was she behind the curtain?
“You're watching my house?” She hoped Kay wasn't in danger.
Dr. Anders closed the back door and advanced on Margaret. She backed away, guiding herself with her hands against the countertops of the kitchen. How to get out of here?
“Kay's a friend of mine from the Woman's Club. I've been keeping these horrid secrets for so long. Why tell her? Or anyone, for that matter?”
“You're making us nervous. We can't trust you won’t let something slip. It's all for the greater good.” He waved his hand in the air, coming closer toward her.
“What good?” Margaret moved still further back.
“You could ruin so many important lives in this community.”
Margaret gave a mirthless laugh. “Great men like John Stewart?”
“Well, there are exceptions.”
Dr. Anders opened up his bag and took out a syringe.
My God! “Get out of here! Get out!” Margaret screamed as she turned and ran to the phone.
“Plan on calling the police? You're not thinking, Margaret.” His voice went up an octave, and then back down as he continued. “Bill Murphy would love to say goodbye to you.” He smiled. “He's manning the phones tonight.”
Margaret grabbed a chair. Finding strength behind the adrenaline rushing through her body, she shoved it at Dr. Anders, and ran toward the back door.
Dr. Anders grabbed Margaret’s arm with his large, bony hand.
“Let go!” Margaret reached for a paring knife lying on the counter and
swiped it across his right cheek. Blood flowed from the wound over his face and under his collar.
Dr. Anders snatched the knife away from Margaret and put it into his coat pocket. He took out his handkerchief. “What? Are you crazy?” he barked at her. “You're making this harder than it has to be.” He held the handkerchief up to his cheek with one hand and her arm with the other. “Now I have a mess to clean.” In a softer voice, he continued, “I promise you, you won't feel anything.” He smirked. “Tomorrow I'll write down on your death certificate that you had a heart attack. 'Poor Margaret,' your fans will say. You know I'll get away with it.”
“It's all written down...the killings...the ginseng. Anything happens to me, it's over. The authorities will be notified.”
“Bill Murphy? Where's this document?” A tense moment passed. Dr. Anders shook his head. “Such an actress. Always on stage. I don’t believe you.”
“Let go, you monster. All of you are...I can't believe Al is going along with this.
“He doesn’t even know.”
“Damn you! You'll get yours.” Margaret spat on him.
“Enough!” Dr. Anders plunged the syringe into Margaret's arm.
At once, Margaret experienced a strange loss of feeling in her muscles and crumpled to the ground. She tried to move her arms and legs but wasn't able to. She attempted to cry out but couldn't utter a sound.
If only I could have warned Kay, she thought.
Dr. Anders walked into the bathroom, just off the kitchen. Margaret heard him say, “Crazy old bitch!” The medicine cabinet opened. A minute later he came back into the kitchen grimacing, still holding his handkerchief to his cheek. He produced a hip flask from his pocket and took a long drink. After a few minutes, he put his handkerchief in the plastic bag in the wastebasket.
He picked up the chair that Margaret shoved at him, and put it back by the table. Taking a blue bottle of cleaner from under the sink, he sprayed the blood on the floor and wiped it up. All the while Margaret watched him with eyes that she couldn't move. He wiped off the countertop. Putting the cloth into the plastic bag, he returned the bottle back under the sink.
The Ginseng Conspiracy (A Kay Driscoll Mystery) Page 16